Fire of Dreams

By George Sterling

Dearest, didst thou in spirit all the night
    Lie in mine arms ? For ceaselessly I burned,
    A famished star made desperate, and yearned
To thee below the constellations' flight.
O mocking Vision, marvellous and white!
    Caught in thy toils intangible I turned.
    Still by the flawless feet of Rapture spurned
From pinnacles in Edens of delight!

I would that morning might awhile efface
The pain of that immaculate embrace!
    Alas! thy lips were bitter on mine own!
        Thy limbs denied me and thy fragrant breast!
    Thou spakest to me, in a tongue unknown.
        Impassioned incantations of unrest !


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